You're Not Alone
by rayrae118
Summary: "Something about this time of year had always gotten to Jim. And for the life of him, McCoy couldn't figure out why." Jim hasn't been acting like himself, and the crew is worried. - crew friendship. Rated for some minor language.


**I am so bad about finishing my stories before I start new ones. But when those plot bunnies want to be heard, they won't take no for an answer. So here we are, yet another Star Trek story. I am working on my other fics, but I'm hitting walls, so while I battle with my writer's block, here's something for y'all to chew on. **

**This story could fit with my others; I seem to have created this Star Trek universe, and now all I write in this fandom will probably be in the same 'world'. I might reference conversations from other stories, but it isn't necessary to read them first. Though of course, I'd love it if you would!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek in the slightest. I do own several Star Trek movies, a couple of Star Trek books, and certainly an unhealthy imagination when it comes to Star Trek fanfiction. And a not so wholesome crush on Chris Pine… not to mention Zoe Saldana being at the top of a very short list of actresses I would gladly switch teams for… but I do not own Star Trek. Oh well.**

McCoy set the PADD down on his desk slightly harder than was perhaps necessary, but he was frustrated. It had been almost a year since the _Narada_ disaster. Almost a year since the _Enterprise_ had launched on her five year mission.

A year in which he had seen the crew come together, form bonds of friendship and family, and strive for excellence, in the eyes of the admirals, their peers, and each other.

And after almost a year, no one could deny that the crew of the flagship was the best of the best. Their youth almost didn't even seem to matter any more. Under the tutelage of their young captain, everyone, from ensign to commander, had proved time and again that they could handle anything Starfleet threw at them.

And speaking of the captain… McCoy didn't know whether to feel admiring or maddened. Jim was definitely competent, there was no denying it. He was also strong-willed, slightly reckless, and determined almost to a fault. All were traits that turned good captains into great ones, in addition to causing the southern doctor no end of grief.

The months that had followed the _Narada_ incident had been exhilarating and eye opening. McCoy didn't think he would ever actually _enjoy_ living in a tin can, but as the time had stretched on and he had gotten more used to it, he had to admit, even if only to himself, that – given the choice – he wouldn't change a thing.

And it was all Jim Kirk's doing. McCoy would never have even considered coming on as the _Enterprise's_ CMO if it hadn't been for the young but brilliant and entirely infuriating captain. When he had sat next to that bruised and banged-up kid on the shuttle to San Francisco, he had never imagined that that same man would become his new reason for living. His best friend, his brother in all but blood. And now, he couldn't imagine letting the idiot go anywhere without him.

It was the same man who was annoying him so much now. McCoy had made his way up to the bridge in time to see the end of alpha shift, and the difference in atmosphere was glaring. Jim's smiles occurred less often, were less charming and more forced. The usual banter and playful ribbing between the captain and Lieutenant Uhura was conspicuously absent. Jim seemed tense, on edge.

The entire bridge crew seemed to notice a change. Even if they weren't sure what was wrong, they all could feel the difference.

But they weren't as used to their young captain as McCoy was. He had spent years hanging out with Jim. Drinking with Jim, avoiding life with Jim. Something about this time of year had always gotten to his friend. But for the life of him, the doctor couldn't figure out _why_.

So McCoy had leaned against the railing, behind the captain's chair, and watched the interactions of the crew. He couldn't deny that these people worked well together. Sulu and Chekov were unmatched at the helm. Uhura was top in her field, and it was easy to see why. Spock, of course, was able to concentrate on his own tasks, as well as keep an eye on those around him, correcting if need be.

And Jim… well, McCoy knew the insufferable idiot was a born leader. He had seen it four years ago when he had first gotten to know the kid, and he saw it now. Jim was comfortable in the captain's chair, and more than that, he was at home. It was _right_. Looking at his friend now, McCoy could see what Pike had meant, when the now admiral had told him that Jim Kirk was too good for Starfleet to waste.

Jim didn't seem to notice his best friend's presence, which surprised McCoy, actually. The damn kid was usually too sharp for his own good. But today he seemed… distracted.

So McCoy watched the crew interactions in silence.

It wasn't until the shift change that the doctor finally got the answer that had eluded him for almost four years. Jim handed off the bridge to Lieutenant Rollins, and most of the senior staff was on their way out. Jim himself was almost in the turbo-lift when a voice called after him, too young and filled with happiness.

"Happy Birthday, Keptin."

_Shit._ McCoy turned to look at the young Russian navigator, before returning his attention quickly to Jim.

The captain had stiffened slightly, enough that it was noticeable to everyone around him. Without a word of acknowledgement, he continued towards the lift, and was quickly taken out of sight.

They all stared at the lift doors, wide eyed. Chekov looked guilty. Uhura had something that could actually be called concern in her eyes. Sulu was confused, and Spock was being typically Vulcan. Researching, calculating, but showing no outward sign of emotion.

McCoy closed his eyes and called himself ten times an idiot. Why hadn't he put it together? He _knew_ the date, he _knew_ what had happened on this day, twenty six years ago. Why hadn't he made the connection?

The next second, he almost swore again, as they all turned to look at him, their hope for answers shining in their eyes. He shook his head, the guilt quickly taking over his mind. _Why hadn't he figured it out before now_? Why had it been Chekov who knew the day? He didn't think he had ever wished Jim a happy birthday before. Because the younger man had never recognized the event. McCoy had never noticed any difference. Except maybe that it would usually involve more alcohol and bar fights than usual. Under the crew's questioning gazes, he left the bridge without saying a word.

And now he found himself in his office, creating busy work for himself, because he didn't want to seek out his friend and face the truth. He was a shitty excuse for a man. A true friend would have asked, wouldn't have taken no for an answer. He hadn't even taken the time to figure out the problem. And he called Jim his best friend. He felt like a fraud.

A hesitant knocking brought him out of his self-loathing thoughts. Glowering at the door, he could guess as to who it might be, and he wasn't sure he wanted to face anyone at the moment.

But it couldn't be helped, so he moved over to open the door, and stepped back to allow Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, and even Spock to enter.

"I don't know anything, so don't bother asking," McCoy said harshly, before any of his visitors had a chance to speak.

He walked back to his desk and picked up the PADD he had tossed aside, making himself look busy, in the hopes of being left alone.

Of course, these people had been working with Jim Kirk for almost a year, so it was only natural that some of his stubbornness had rubbed off on them. Or maybe they were just that stubborn to begin with.

Either way, none of them made any move to leave.

"So he never…" Sulu trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. While he had heard often of the great Jim Kirk throughout his years at the academy, they hadn't actually met until he was boarding a small shuttle for a life or death away mission, Kirk ready to go and him wondering why on Earth he had volunteered for the assignment. It was Kirk jumping after him without a second thought as he fell off that drill that had begun to sow the seeds of trust and loyalty. Friendship had come later, as they had limped their way back to Earth after it was all over. Days and nights of working together, side by side, where he had come to realize that, while some of the rumors surrounding the other man may have been true, what they didn't mention was the overwhelming sense of duty, and the desire to protect that radiated from the cadet. He had seen – first as Kirk jumped off a drill to save a man he barely knew, and then later, as he shared in the dreary task of repairs alongside everyone else, from cadet to commander, accepting none of the glory and willing to simply _work_ – that the other man was a leader. He had had his doubts as he watched Jim goad Spock into a fight, but afterwards… he knew that no matter where he served, he wanted to work alongside Kirk. The man had his undying loyalty, and his friendship.

McCoy narrowed his eyes, and gave up the pretense of reading. He looked at the pilot and shook his head. "I never asked, and he never offered," he replied, wincing internally as some of the guilt found its way into his voice.

Uhura couldn't help but study the doctor's body language. She was a linguist, and it was what she was trained to do. Not all languages were spoken, and right now, she could read the self-hatred and guilt in McCoy's stance as easily as if he had straight out said it.

While it was no secret that she and Jim hadn't gotten off to the best of starts, the last year had been a real eye opener for her. Sure, he had gotten on her bad side immediately, with a drunken pick up line and a stupid bar fight, but as a captain, he had really surprised her. Four years ago, she had categorized him as a dumb hick and left it at that. She had been surprisingly impressed when he had proved not to be the simple farm boy she had thought, and provided her with a delightfully amusing few minutes, until several classmates she would say had more balls than brains had interrupted. It was actually disappointing; she had been having fun. And then the fight had started, and she had been disgusted, and even slightly let down that her first impression had been right. But still, something about the way Kirk fought struck a chord in her mind. He didn't seem to enjoy it, and it wasn't just to prove how much more of a man he was. There was a cold desperation behind his movements, like he was trying to fight something that only he could see. Uhura was an unmatched linguist, and she could read even unspoken languages. She had watched him get his ass handed to him, and she had been annoyed and yet excited to see him on the shuttle the next morning.

Their years at the academy had been a delightful game for the two of them. He would never fail to use some cheesy pick up line when he saw her, and she would take great pleasure in turning him down in spectacular fashion. She knew he was never serious, just like she knew that he knew she wasn't either. They both enjoyed the game. Her favorites had been using other languages to respond to his flirtations, after the first time she had shot him down in Vulcan, and he had replied with his usual joking response of 'one day…' with his own little flare. In the same language. Fluently and flawlessly. After that, she had taken to switching it up between earthly and extraterrestrial languages, just to see how many he knew. Over three years, she had yet to use one he hadn't been able to recognize, from French to Cardassian. It was rather awe-inspiring, actually.

And then he had cheated on the Kobayashi Maru, and her original dislike of him had been brought to the surface once more. She had been annoyed and angry that he had found a way onto the _Enterprise_, and completely disgusted at the way he had wrenched command of the vessel away from Spock. In the moment, she had hated him with a passion. In the aftermath… she had been able to look at his actions with a degree of understanding. It had been the minute directly afterwards that had stuck with her more than the fight. _I sure hope you know what you're doing… So do I._ So do I. She had seen in his eyes at that instance an uncertainty, a sense of pain and self-disgust. Later, she had realized that he hadn't wanted to do what he had done. He had acted out of pure desperation and a need to get the _Enterprise_ to turn around. He hadn't had the time to argue. Spock had made the wrong decision. She had known that, just as well as Kirk had. He hadn't wanted to goad the Vulcan, and he certainly hadn't meant anything he had said. He was just… desperate.

One thing stood out from the fight though: Kirk hadn't fought back. She had seen him in action on several occasions, and heard about his exploits on several more. She knew he was a competent fighter, so why hadn't he defended himself? Watching him closely, she had been reminded of the first time they had met. The expression on his face and particularly the look in his eyes was very similar. Only this time, he wasn't fighting back. It was more like… he expected it. He was used to it. Which hadn't really surprised her, he _had_ been in an amazing amount of fights over the years. But there was something about the look that had just stuck with her. First in Iowa, and then again on the bridge. It almost scared her, how accepting he was of the punches. It spoke of years and years of taking the pain and hurt without complaint. She had to wonder just what her classmate's life had been like, that he could shake off being beat up by a _Vulcan_ like it was nothing.

When she had considered her post-graduate options, she realized it really was no contest. She wanted to continue on the _Enterprise_, but more than that, she wanted to work with Kirk. He was like a puzzle, and she loved puzzles. She felt a need to figure him out, to piece together a true map of who he was. She wasn't buying the cocky attitude and over inflated ego any more. She had seen a glimpse of the real him, beneath the lies, and the reality of it had almost taken her breath away. It seemed impossible that someone could be so fit for a single purpose, and yet, here was Jim Kirk. He _was_ a captain. She may not have liked him very much at first, but he would always have her loyalty and respect.

And after almost a year of watching and observing, their relationship had definitely changed. She wasn't quite sure what it was now, but there was camaraderie and trust. She might even call it friendship. So seeing him today, so different from the Jim Kirk she thought she knew, worried her. She knew the date, just as they all did. She knew about the _Kelvin_, and what had happened on this day. But she hadn't put it together until she had heard the words come out of Chekov's mouth. All of a sudden, it made sense. They were all so used to the confidant and cheerful captain, they often forgot his unique circumstances. Born as his father died; she imagined this day was not the usual celebration of becoming another year older that it was for most people. She wondered if maybe she had found another piece to the puzzle that was the enigma that was James Kirk.

Chekov could feel the guilt fighting with the confusion for domination of his mind. He hadn't meant anything by his well wishes; he had just wanted to wish the captain a happy birthday. What had he done wrong?

Chekov had heard of Jim Kirk – who in their class hadn't? But he had never met the older man until he had barged onto the bridge demanding that they stop the ship. He had felt a great deal of confusion then, too. It wasn't until Jim had listened to him as an equal, refusing to see his younger age as an impediment, and simply listened to the math, that Chekov had begun to respect the then acting captain. That respect had grown to admiration, which grew to loyalty, and trust, and friendship. Jim Kirk was an easy man to talk to, and he had always been willing to listen. Life on a starship wasn't easy for a young navigator who was constantly ridiculed for being years younger than anyone else. He hadn't thought there was anyone who would understand, until his captain had found him alone on the observation deck in the middle of the night, barely a month into their mission. Kirk was the youngest captain in federation history. Chekov realized that night that he wasn't as alone as he had thought. From then on, he had considered Jim one of his best friends. He was humbled and awed when, months later on his eighteenth birthday, the captain had told him the feeling was reciprocated.

Which was why Chekov felt so guilty now. He really hadn't meant to do anything wrong.

Spock stared at the doctor with a calculating expression. Well, as calculating as a Vulcan could look. While his first impression of Jim hadn't been the best, over the last year, he had come to harbor a very strong respect for the man. He might even consider his captain a close friend. Unbidden, the words he had so harshly slung at the younger man during the tribunal came back to him. _Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?_ If he were human, Spock might have wished to return to that moment and change it. But he wasn't, so he didn't. He did, however, acknowledge his actions as regrettable and uncalled for. He had seen how the mention of his father had affected the cadet. Clearly the absence of the man had had a lasting impact on Jim Kirk.

McCoy sighed internally as he appraised the group. Jim's command team – minus one eccentric and slightly crazy Scotsman. He knew his friend considered these people his best friends, and he knew the younger man trusted them with his – and his entire crew's – life. But did that mean that any of them had the right to go prying into his personal business? Honestly, he knew they all cared. They all wanted to understand, and to help, any way they could. But he didn't think they would be able to. And he _knew_ he wouldn't be able to. Because none of them really knew what he was going through. Well, McCoy could make some guesses, but then, he knew more about the insufferable captain's childhood than the others. He could make an educated guess as to why this day would never be filled with the joy that comes from making it another year. But it didn't mean he could relate. He didn't really celebrate his own birthday now – after a certain age, it really wasn't that much of a celebration anymore – and it wasn't like he really had anyone to celebrate with, anyway. Not anymore. He had never told Jim the date, not thinking that it mattered, though he had noticed that on that day each year, at whatever bar they ended up inhabiting that night, Jim would pay. No well wishes, just silent acknowledgment and friendship. McCoy really appreciated it.

Which just added more guilt to the pile. Jim had known exactly what McCoy wanted and needed. What had he done? Nothing. He hadn't even asked. He hadn't even been able to put it all together.

McCoy sighed again. "He doesn't celebrate his birthday," the doctor said gruffly, more because he felt a need to work it all out, out loud, than because he really thought any of them had a right to be talking about it behind their captain's back. "He never has."

Spock couldn't stop the eyebrow raise. It was a natural reflex. The Jim Kirk he knew would use any excuse to bring the attention to focus on himself. This piece of knowledge was… confusing.

"Never?" Sulu asked, shifting forward slightly in an unconscious show of interest and curiosity.

McCoy couldn't help the glare he leveled at the helmsman, and was pleased to see him wilt slightly under the gaze. "It's not like it's the most joyous of days for his family," he retorted hotly.

The pilot winced at that. Of course it wouldn't be.

"But Jim…"

Uhura trailed off under the glare that was suddenly leveled at her. Sometimes she was surprised of the fierce loyalty that the doctor garnered for their captain. She knew they were friends, but it was sometimes hard to see it under the constant bickering.

McCoy sighed, and the heat left his gaze. He needed to find his friend. He might be feeling all kinds of guilty, but he knew that Jim needed him right now. He couldn't change the past; all he could do was be there for his friend in the present. He was one of the few people who could probably deduce just how much this day had to hurt for the younger man. And certainly, he was the only one on this ship with that capability.

The doctor set the PADD back down on the desk and turned back to the group crowding his office. "Look," he started, voice neutral as he mentally sorted through a list of places he knew Jim was likely to inhabit if he was trying to stay off the radar, "Alpha shift is over, I'm sure you all have things you could be doing right now." At the first signs of protest – he saw it coming from every single one of them – he rushed on, not giving any of them a chance to speak. "I know you care, and you're worried. I get it. Just…" he trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking without giving away any of his friend's secrets. "Let me talk to him first, OK?"

He got a few nods in response, mainly from Sulu and Uhura, who seemed to realize that the doctor knew something that they did not, and were willing to take a step back, if it meant they could get their old captain back. With a nod in return, McCoy made his way out of the med bay, leaving the rest of the bridge crew behind.

"Ve should do sometink." They all turned to look at Chekov, who stared back unashamedly. "It is de keptin's birthday, da? Ve should give him a cake, at least."

Uhura and Sulu looked at each other again, having a silent conversation. Finally, the communications officer looked back at the young navigator. "I'm not sure that's the best idea, Chekov," she replied gently.

The eighteen year old refused to back down, however. "But he's our friend, da? Shouldn't ve show him we care?"

Silence met his query. Even Uhura didn't have a response to that. It_ would_ be a way for them to show their young leader their support. Even if they didn't know everything, at the very least, the gesture would go a long way towards convincing the man that his father's sacrifice wasn't in vain. She doubted he had heard that much, growing up. She glanced at Sulu again, and, upon seeing his nod, turned to look at Spock. The Vulcan had remained mostly silent throughout their conversation, though she could understand some of what he was thinking. Vulcans weren't that hard to read, it was just a different type of body language. She could see the concern for his captain in the tenseness of his shoulders, as well as his – was that _desire_? – to show the man how much he was valued. Turning back to the young Russian, she nodded, albeit slightly reluctantly, but couldn't hold back a small smile as she saw the grin light up the boy's face.

**XXX**

He was in the first place McCoy looked. And what did it say about their friendship, that the doctor knew _exactly_ where a contemplative and upset Jim Kirk would go?

After checking to make sure that the observation deck was empty, save for the two of them, McCoy locked the door. Anyone who wanted to use the room could find somewhere else to be for a couple of hours.

Slowly, carefully, he made his way over to his friend, stopping when he was at the younger man's shoulder. He sneaked a glance, and then focused on the object of the captain's attention.

Jim was currently at the large window, staring at the abyss that consumed them. Stars that twinkled, near and far, that held dreams, and fears, and resolutions, and desires. It was a sight that stood for something, that meant something. Even McCoy, who hated space with a passion, could understand that. And he could see the allure.

Jim knew when his friend joined him, though he made no sign of recognition. He wasn't surprised, of course; McCoy had a habit of finding him whenever he tried to hide.

The two stayed in silence, stargazing. Jim knew he would have to talk eventually, but he couldn't figure out what to say.

McCoy waited patiently. It was an unusual practice for him, but one he could accomplish, when necessary.

Finally, Jim was ready to talk. "When I turned five, my mom was already too drunk to make it up and down the stairs by the time I woke up." His voice was quiet, contemplative. "She locked herself in her room with her stash, and didn't come out until the next day. Sam felt bad, so he put a bunch of cookies on a plate, around a candle. He sang 'Happy Birthday', and gave me a present. It was this drawing of the two of us that he had made in art class." He snorted softly. "What does it say about me that that's the best birthday I ever had?"

He trailed off into silence, still staring at the stars, unwilling to look his friend in the eye.

McCoy processed that information, unsure of how to help. He knew he had done it before, he liked to think he was actually semi-decent at managing the chaos that was Jim Kirk. But what did he say to that? _It's OK? I'm sorry?_ He knew Jim would lose it if he even tried to go there. It wasn't what he wanted or needed.

The doctor shifted so that he was leaning against the window, and crossed his arms as he looked at his captain. "That sucks," he replied simply. Jim threw him a sharp look, and McCoy smirked. "You know you don't keep me around just for my pretty looks. I promised you I'd never lie to you, and I don't plan on breaking that."

Jim managed a small smile, but it was just a hint of the content and carefree man McCoy was so used to seeing. "Sometimes I wish you would," he admitted, his mouth twisting in a sort of half smirk, half grimace.

McCoy chuckled, knowing Jim was joking. Or at least, half joking. He nodded his head once, and continued. "I'm not going to tell you how awful it is, you already know that. I won't say I'm sorry, or that everything's going to be all right. But what happened back then doesn't have to affect who you are now. You're not that kid any more. You've got friends, people who care about you, and want to be with you."

He paused there, waiting for Jim to give some sign that he understood, or at least that he was open to the possibility. After several moments, Jim shifted his weight and shrugged. "I guess," he replied somewhat dubiously.

McCoy almost scowled, but he held it in. Jim didn't need the annoyance right now. He needed a friend. And damn it, McCoy would be that friend if it killed him. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"

That question was met with more silence. It went on so long, McCoy wasn't sure if the stubborn man was even listening any more. Finally, though, Jim spoke. His tone was unsure, soft, hesitant. But he talked, because he trusted the doctor. He had opened up before, and wasn't disappointed. He knew he could do it again. He cleared his throat. "That picture was the only birthday present I've ever gotten. After my mom got remarried, Sam changed. And Frank's idea of a present usually involved a black eye or broken bones."

It hurt McCoy to hear his friend talk about physical violence that he had suffered in such a cavalier manner. He couldn't hold back the wince, though luckily – or perhaps unluckily – Jim appeared to be too caught up in the memories to notice.

"After Sam left, I just tried to forget that that day was any different from the others," Jim finished, casting an uncertain glance at the doctor.

McCoy took an extra second to make sure he was in control and his face was neutral before he met the young captain's gaze. He really wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, but he knew his friend was waiting for something, anything, that would assure him that life wasn't that hopeless. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again. False platitudes were likely to be met with violence. He was in deep waters here, and he needed to tread carefully. Just because Jim had decided to trust him, it didn't mean he was home free. His friend was hurting right now, and probably would be for a long time.

Finally, he sighed. "I know you don't want to hear this, so at the risk of getting punched, none of that shit was your fault."

Jim's mouth twisted in a painful grimace. It wasn't the first time he had heard that, and not even the first time from the doctor standing next to him, but he still hated it. It wasn't that he didn't want the assurance, it was more that he wasn't sure he believed it. Even now, when his past was firmly locked up in a neat little box in the back of his mind, and he had friends, good ones, people who cared about him, people he cared about, he still couldn't get rid of the feeling that he could have, should have, done something; that every time Frank had gone off on one of his rages, every time his mother left, when Sam had finally deserted him, he was in some way responsible. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

He shrugged, and then avoided the subject. "Sam commed me this morning," he informed McCoy.

That surprised the older man. "What happened?" he asked gently, shifting towards his friend slightly, showing his support.

Jim shrugged again. "He said 'hi' and I just hung up." His tone took on a pleading quality, like he _needed_ his friend to understand. "On any other day, I might have been able to at least talk to him, but not today. I just couldn't deal with him either justifying himself, or apologizing. I honestly don't know which one would be worse right now, and until I can answer that question, I don't want to talk to him."

McCoy winced. He was actually surprised at the level of insight his friend seemed to have, and then angry with himself for being surprised. Hadn't he learned by now not to put anything past the genius level idiot? "You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to, Jim," he offered, knowing the man needed his approval in this, though unsure as to why.

The captain shook his head. "I _want_ to talk to him, I _want _him to be my brother again. I just _can't_. Not right now."

McCoy nodded. "I get it." Jim threw him a sharp look, full of questions. Hesitantly, the doctor reached out and clasped his friend's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. He was happier than he believed he should be that the younger man didn't flinch under his grasp. "I understand, Jim," he continued, "And you don't have to talk to him until and unless you're ready. It's your decision, and he should respect that."

The questioning gaze turned to a cautious smile, and McCoy internally rejoiced as he saw his best friend's eyes light up.

McCoy couldn't help but return the smile with one of his own – a real one, that held no hint of sarcasm or disdain, so unlike his usual expression. He turned a little more, until he was facing his captain completely, and then moved forward. Again, he felt an insurmountable joy as he gathered Jim in his arms, noting the lack of a flinch.

He wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders, squeezing tightly and reassuringly. Jim was a little more hesitant, but slowly, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around the doctor's waist, gripping just as tightly.

McCoy could hear the threat of tears in his friend's voice, as the younger man whispered, "Thanks."

He responded by squeezing even more tightly. Almost as quietly, he replied, "You're not alone anymore, Jim."

He felt Jim nod, the movement rubbing against his shoulder. A moment later, that statement was proved even more correct, as the door – which McCoy _knew_ he had locked – swooshed open.

The pair broke apart, McCoy turning towards the group of people at the door while Jim quickly faced a corner, trying discretely to wipe his eyes before anyone saw the telltale glistening.

The doctor scowled. "I locked that door for a reason," he growled, glaring at each of them in turn.

Sulu and Chekov seemed to wilt under his gaze, while Spock remained neutral, and Scotty almost seemed to be hiding behind Uhura. The communications officer merely smiled, and stepped forward. "I convinced Spock to use his override," she explained, shrugging casually.

McCoy's scowl deepened, though he didn't respond, as Jim chose that moment to turn back to the group, cocky grin once more in place as he leaned against the window, propped up by his elbows. The only difference was that this time, no one was buying it. The entire group could tell it was forced, and could see the amount of effort it took for the young captain to keep it there. "What can I –"

"Shut up."

They all turned to stare at Uhura. Not one of them could keep the shock off their face. Except Jim. He simply turned towards her, grin disappearing and one eyebrow migrating towards his hairline.

Uhura's mouth twisted unpleasantly, though her expression was more worry and concern than anything else. "Captain," she tacked on as an afterthought.

Sulu was now looking more amused, while Chekov kept glancing, wide eyed, from the communications officer to the captain almost as if he was watching a tennis match, McCoy looked approving, Spock looked neutral – same as always – and Scotty seemed confused. He had tagged along after Uhura had informed him of the situation, though he still felt like he was missing something important.

Uhura took another step forward, and another, until she was standing closer to Jim and McCoy than the rest of the group, and when she spoke, it was to her captain, and her captain alone.

"Jim," she said quietly, and waited as the man in question suddenly straightened, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest; his eyes twitched, as if itching to look away, but he was refusing to show such weakness. Well, she recognized a defensive posture if ever she saw one. But she wouldn't let it stop her from speaking her mind. And right now, her mind was hovering somewhere between exasperated and worried, irritated and concerned. Now that she was here, she couldn't quite figure out what to say that would get her point across. She had spent so much time being annoyed by the man, refusing to really take the time to understand him, and even though they now that they had a positive rapport, she was still a subordinate. A subordinate who had just told her commanding officer to shut up. Luckily she was fairly certain he would let it slide. Finally she sighed and said the one thing she was fairly certain he hadn't heard nearly enough. "Happy Birthday."

As predicted, the man stiffened, gaze dropping slightly before returning to settle somewhere around her chin, like he couldn't quite look her in the eyes. He attempted another smile, though it was tight and forced, as he replied, voice low and slightly hoarse. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Uhura wanted to scream. Clearly, that was the wrong approach. She glanced over at McCoy, who was too busy watching his friend with a clearly sympathetic look to acknowledge her attempt. It was strange to see an undercurrent of pain in the doctor's eyes. It was like Jim's pain was McCoy's pain. It was beautifully sad, in a way. And yet another example of the closeness of the pair. She wondered if she would ever be as close to someone as those two were. And she marveled at how neither of them seemed to realize that it wasn't natural.

She lowered her own gaze slightly, focusing on his mouth, or perhaps his nose, so that she wouldn't be overwhelmed by the sadness and loss she saw hiding in plain sight behind his too blue eyes. She cleared her throat. With a half a gesture behind her, she continued, "We just wanted to tell you how happy we are that you're here. Scotty brought plenty of alcohol, and Chekov – well, _tried_ to make a cake." She attempted some humor as she smirked, "I can't vouch for its taste, but I'm fairly certain it's edible."

She was rewarded when Jim smiled slightly. A real one, and it was beautiful. She wasn't sure she had ever seen him smile like that, with no attempt at deflection, no mask or façade.

At Chekov's indignant squawk behind her, his smile widened a little more. He raised his gaze to meet hers briefly, before looking beyond her to the group still huddled near the door. After a moment of silence, he finally nodded. "Thanks," he said again, though this time it felt much more real.

The group grinned back at him, and moved quickly over to one of the tables set by the far wall. Jim, McCoy, and Uhura remained by the windows for another minute. Uhura stepped back, trying to subtly give them some privacy, but still curious about their interactions, and the way they seemed to be almost an extension of each other.

The two looked like they were having an intense silent discussion. They stared at each other for several moments, and then Jim sighed.

McCoy too seemed to almost deflate as he let out a breath of air. "Remember what I said," he stated quietly, as he moved forward again to grasp the younger man's shoulder. "You're not alone."

Jim held his gaze for another moment, and then nodded once. "What if I forget?" he responded, voice halfway between curious and self-loathing. It was an odd combination, Uhura thought, but she didn't comment, as the two began to make their way towards the group. McCoy moved his arm to drape it across his friend's shoulders.

As the pair passed Uhura, McCoy answered, "Then you'll have me to remind you."

"You have all of us," the communications officer chipped in, falling into line on Jim's other side, and hesitantly slipping her hand into his. He looked down at the entwined limbs almost in surprise, and then up to her face. She offered up a small smile, full of compassion and friendship, which he returned. It was strange, to see him in such a role, but she had to admit, she liked it. She really liked this 'real Kirk'. He squeezed her hand tightly, more of a reassuring gesture than anything else, and his other arm reached out to wrap around McCoy's waist.

The group drank Scotty's alcohol rather quickly, and bravely tested the young navigator's cake, which actually wasn't that bad, once you got used to it. Not once did the smile leave Jim's face.

It wasn't until much later, when the seven of them had disbanded in the early hours of the morning, all knowing that they would be feeling it tomorrow but not willing to care, that Jim finally realized his answer. Deciding that putting it off would only give him more of an opportunity to chicken out, he quickly made his way over to his communications terminal. Speaking the necessary commands, he forced himself to breathe evenly as he waited. Finally, the transmission cleared, and he found himself looking at a rather surprised - and very exhausted - young man. Swallowing hard, Jim smoothed out his expression, and leaned forward.

"Sam?"

_And finished! A one shot for right now, though I might add a second chapter, with Sam and Jim's conversation, if I get enough of a demand for it. I don't know why I have such a problem ending my stories, but I really enjoyed writing this. It's been bouncing around the back of my mind ever since I read a few 'birthday' stories. And I actually started writing it about four months ago, and then ran into a huge wall, which I finally was able to get over. So here you go!_

_And of course, please REVIEW! I love hearing other people's opinions =]_


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